Chapter 4 #2
“So are pants, but you don’t see me walking around in my boxers.”
“Honestly, I doubt you’d stand out that much in this city. Then again,” I added, without thinking, “with that ass you might just start a riot.”
Luckily for me, Dash just laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, winking.
There was a sharp intake of breath, and I turned my head just in time to see a gray-haired man almost walk into a pole, utterly distracted by Dash’s wink.
I bit my lip to hide my smile. As an oblivious Dash walked on, I made a mental note to have business cards made to hand out to any other passersby who found themselves too awestruck by his face to keep from colliding against obstacles in their path.
We settled for a bakery, where Dash got a croissant and yet another latte and I opted for a loaded to-go waffle that was breakfast-adjacent if you squinted.
From the bakery, it wasn’t too far a walk to the long path that bordered the East River.
Under the brilliant blue sky, the Manhattan skyline shone like a tiara made out of steel and glass.
“Come on,” I said. “There’s a bench up there.”
“Tired already?”
“Never. But I do have to write down all the stuff we were talking about before I forget it.”
Even before reaching the bench, I was already scrabbling in my tote for my notebook and pen—so intently that I would’ve walked into a trash can had Dash not gently seized me by the shoulders and steered me away.
“Thanks,” I said, plopping down on the hot metal seat. “I turn into a menace whenever I try to walk and literally do anything else. Okay, so.”
I bent over my notebook, scribbling down furiously all the things we’d just said plus a couple of fresh ideas.
I must have gone into a little bit of a hyperfocus spiral, because when I resurfaced, it was to find Dash kind of…
gazing at me. Like he liked what he saw.
Which couldn’t have been the case because I was pretty sure I had a smear of syrup on my chin.
And maybe it was the sun beaming down behind him, but I felt so dazzled I had to blink a couple of times. The stroll in the sun had brushed glowing pink over the bridge of his nose and the top of his cheekbones, and even his eyes looked more golden than the dark brown they actually were.
It took me an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was talking. “Got it all down?”
I gave him a brisk nod. “All of it and more. I’ll work on turning a couple of these into scripts tonight. I think we should shoot for minute-long videos to start with, and then we can adjust depending on viewer feedback. That sound good?”
“It does, yeah.” Dash ran his fingers through his hair.
I squinted at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said again. “I just… this just…” There was a richness to the breath he let out, as if he were laughing at himself under his breath. “I haven’t been this excited about a project in a long time, and that’s probably thanks to you. Your enthusiasm is…”
“Concerning?” I supplied.
Dash gave me a sidelong look. “I was gonna say inspiring. And contagious. I honestly can’t wait to start shooting—and I can’t wait to see what else you come up with.”
“Careful what you wish for. Things can get pretty wild in here.” Jamming my pen into the notebook’s spiral freed up my hand so that I could tap my temple in illustration. “I’ve been told I have a dangerous imagination.”
“Oh yeah?” Dash got up and offered me his hand. “Luckily for you, I happen to like a little danger now and then.”
The second store on my list looked a lot more promising than the first one, and not just because of all the sugar swirling inside me.
For starters, the place was crammed with furniture.
Literally. Through the open garage-style doors, I could see piles of spindly legged tables and chairs, and sofas that looked like venerable old dowagers swathed in faded chintz.
“This is it—I can feel it,” I declared as I dragged Dash inside. “This is where we’re going to find the Duke’s chair. And maybe a cute little table for the vase.”
And drapes and a snuffbox and I still hadn’t given up on the riding crop.
I plunged into the precariously stacked mounds of furniture like I was Indiana Jones scouting for a mythical treasure.
There were quite a few sleek mid-century modern pieces, some clunkers that could only have come from the nineties shabby chic, let’s-hide-TVs-in-distressed-armoires era, but so far nothing that resembled the image in my head.
“I want an armchair,” I said over my shoulder to Dash. “High-backed, so that it’ll frame your head and torso. Upholstered, though the fabric doesn’t matter as we’ll probably have to redo that anyway.”
“Noted.”
Hunting for treasure among piles of junk is always hard work. I spotted a gold candlestick and set it aside, but all my energy was focused on finding The Chair.
I thought Dash was similarly engrossed, but it turned out his silence was due to something else. “So, hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier with all that…”
Letting go of the rocking chair I’d been wrestling with, I glanced at him. “Unbridled honesty and painful earnestness?” I’d intended to be funny, but at Dash’s wince, I rushed to add, “You’re fine. I’m the one who should apologize for basically running away when you were trying to open up.”
“No, no. I mean, we haven’t known each other that long. I shouldn’t be laying all that stuff on you.”
I waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s not your fault that I’m incapable of facing genuine human emotion without feeling the urge to bolt. I think I might be part android.”
Dash’s naturally upturned lips twitched. “Then I’m sorry for disturbing your android sensibilities. I just… want you to know that it’s totally okay to run away or simply tell me to shut up if I’m getting too emotional.”
“In all honesty, I will probably do both of those things at once. And maybe let out a scream or two.” I came to a sudden stop as my roaming gaze caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Something halfway between a whimper and a groan escaped my lips. “Ohhh. Oh no.”
“What?” Dash whispered, following me as I dove behind a massive gumball machine. “It’s not Bruno, is it?”
“Bru—Milo? No. No,” I added, breathing hard. “It’s just… someone I used to know from work.”
“And I take it you don’t want to say hello?” he asked dryly.
“I don’t even want to exist in the same universe as her.” I snuck a peek around the spheric glass of the machine, which was thankfully clouded from years of disuse. “Shit, I think they’re coming this way.”
Before I could explain to Dash that I had the emotional maturity of a potato and that I would do pretty much anything to avoid my former boss and her client, he was seizing me by the wrist.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I stumbled and caught myself against his chest. Or maybe he caught me—his arm was suddenly around my waist and the contact was making my brain short out.
For a second, Dash looked like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Then he flashed me one of his grins and lowered his face to mine, as if he were seconds away from kissing me. “What every romantic hero does when the leading lady needs to hide from the bad guys.”
I was too aware of my chest rising and falling with each breath, the ruffles on my pleated top brushing his T-shirt. “Saved by the Duke,” I murmured.
Except for the slight curling of his lips, Dash didn’t move.
But the warm, coffee-scented breath that trailed over my lips was as good as a caress.
I inhaled—in preparation for what, I couldn’t tell you, because it wasn’t like we were actually going to kiss or anything.
Try telling that to my body, though. His hand was light on my waist, but it felt like the only thing preventing me from floating right up to the store’s high ceiling.
Because just the thought, just the possibility of getting to kiss Dash was enough to send me soaring.
I couldn’t even remember how we’d come to stand like this in the first place. All I knew was that it felt so right that I was prepared to risk everything just for one tiny brush of—
“Mariel?”
I knew I should have straightened my hair and dyed it purple.
Mentally cursing myself out for letting Yaz convince me otherwise, I disentangled myself from Dash and turned around to face my former boss.
“Elaine. Hi. It’s nice to see you.” I shifted my gaze behind her, to the woman in the pearly gray shift dress who looked like she didn’t want to exist in the same universe as me, either. “And Mrs. Greyson. I hope you’re well.”
Both women answered my greeting with pleasant smiles and murmured greetings, though I was sure I saw a wary glint in Elaine’s eyes. And who could blame her? The last time I was face-to-face with Mrs. Greyson, I was screaming at her.
In the process of installing a built-in that had been added to the family room on a whim, after most of the room had already been finished, one of the younger members of the contractor’s crew had accidentally scratched the expensive wallpaper.
In the interest of saving both time and money, because we were already behind schedule and over budget, I’d asked our wallpaper guy to replace the damaged segment with a remnant.
Mrs. Greyson had scrutinized the entire process, fretting over whether the pattern was matching up perfectly and pointing out smears of paste that would become invisible when it dried.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal, especially since she’d been acting that way for the entire length of the renovation. But that day, in my emotionally charged post-breakup state, her entitlement fell on me like dynamite sticks in a bonfire.
And I exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I raged at her. “Can’t you see he’s doing his best? Can’t you see we’re all doing our best?”